Love, Carefully Folded
by dressagegrrrl
Summary: Why does Hermione keep ending up naked in bed with Snape?
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Hey, guys. None of my schtuff is abandoned. Promise. I've just had a string of good luck with real life publication (woo-woo!), and I've been busy with work and husband (woo-woo!). Husband is wonderful, btw. And ridiculously good looking.  
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_This is complete in three chapters, and all written._

_Betaed by my lovely, scrumptious, and super sexy Aurette. Also, thanks to my Brit-picker, Camillo!_

_The title comes from a Michael Shepherd poem called "A Grief Ago."_

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**Chapter One**

She was naked. So was he. They were in a bordello. Or, at least, that's what Hermione assumed. The walls were red velvet with gold fleurs-de-lis accents, and the coverlet was trimmed in what she hoped was faux ermine, but knew wasn't since there were little animal heads and paws dotting the fur here and there. The lamps in the room dripped prisms which cast tiny rainbows on the hard planes of her bed-partner's face.

They stared, each holding a portion of the blankets over their important bits.

"Um," she said, feeling heat rise in her cheeks.

"Granger," Snape snapped, his lips thin white lines. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I have no idea." She shifted the coverlet, trying to minimize the contact between the bare skin of her breasts and taxidermied animal parts. She cast her gaze about the room in discomfort and noticed a single white flower resting gracelessly in an earthenware pitcher. Its head drooped a bit and the edges were wilted, making it appear even more out of place in the tacky room. Looking back to him, she asked, "What are you doing here?"

He scowled and opened his mouth.

As if hit with a Stinging Hex, Hermione sucked in a great gasp of air and sat up in her own bedroom. She was alone and wearing flannel pajamas.

That was the first time she dreamt of being naked with Severus Snape.

* * *

"You're late," Snape snarled when she walked into the shop.

"Shut up. Shut your mouth." Hermione glared at her boss. "I can't believe you did that to me."

His lips tightened. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean." He sat behind the counter where all of the restricted ingredients were kept under ward. His ledger rested on the glass in front of him, and Hermione watched him ignore her, carefully totting up his accounts.

"You sent me to deliver Madame Malkin's potions at her store," she hissed.

Snape finally looked up, his brow arched and his mouth quirked. "Ah. I was under the impression that you were my _assistant_. Hence, I expected you to _assist_ me. Was delivering Potions below you, Ms. Granger?"

"Why you… That's not it at all!" Hermione fought with herself not to grab him by his black wool lapels and shake him until his teeth cracked. "You had to have known that _she_ works there."

He sighed. "By the amount of vitriol in your voice, I can only imagine that Ms. Brown has recently found employment at Madame Malkin's." With crisp movements, he removed the silver glasses that had perched on his crooked hook of a nose. Folding the earpieces with care, he deposited them in his breast pocket and then turned his attention back to Hermione. "Your assumption that I knew is understandable, of course. After all, the entire Wizarding World is well aware of my fascination with ladies' clothing and millinery."

Hermione flushed and looked away.

"I do so love to discuss the fine cut of a robe, and so I try to keep all of Madame Malkin's current employees on my auto-Floo. So sorry, Ms. Granger. It must have slipped my mind to inform you that your arch-nemesis is now selling knickers to Hogwarts students." He shifted and crossed his arms over his chest, causing his long, ink-black braid to slip off his shoulder. "Does that suffice as an apology?"

She sniffed. "Barely. I might consider it if you also have the decency to buy lunch for once. I've bought it the last three days."

"Consider it done." He examined his tidy fingernails. "Lamb curry?"

She shrugged and finally moved around the counter to hang her blue cloak next to Snape's black one. The hooks were shaped like silver serpents, and she sighed. She slipped on her work apron which was covered in fat red tulips.

He swiveled his chair to watch her, his lips twitching at her cheerful work apparel. "So, I'm assuming you had words, then?" He cocked his head and added, "She's still breathing?"

Hermione felt heat creep up her neck and into her cheeks. "Yes, of course." A beat of silence passed between them before she blurted, "She had love bites all up and down her neck, and I just lost my temper. Before she could say a word, I hexed her so that one of her bosoms hung to her navel."

"Just one? Creative." He rested his cheek on his curled fist.

"I still can't believe he did it. Four years, and Ron threw it all away for that vacuous cow. You know he's living with her now." Her fists clenched until she could feel the half moons of her nails cutting into her palms.

"I very much enjoyed hearing about your creative hexing of a Gryffindor. More of that please, and less of the blubbering over the ginger pustule. Or, even better, you could actually earn the pay I scrape out of my coffers and get to brewing. Winter's just around the corner, and we're low on Pepper Up." He shooed her off with a single, negligent flip of his hand and then donned his glasses again, turning back to the ledger.

Hermione noticed that the book was covered in precise rows of black numbers, and very little red ink. _Scrape out of his coffers, indeed._

Sniffing, she turned towards the laboratory at the back of the Apothecary. Passing rows of bulging-eyed specimens in jars and perfectly-ordered ingredients dusted to within an inch of their lives, her shoes made soft clicking noises on the hardwood floor. She halted by the entrance to the lab and turned around to ask Snape how many batches he wanted her to make. She caught him staring, his face puzzled. "What?" she whispered.

"Make sure you make a double batch." He cocked his head and gazed at her intently. "It's very hard to envision you as a serious Potions-brewer in that tulip monstrosity."

She smirked and turned back towards the lab. "Don't be jealous."

* * *

It was the bordello again. They were equally naked, except this time they were spooning; his tablespoon to her teaspoon.

Although she couldn't see his face, she knew it had to be Snape because only a proboscis as malformed as his could make the terrible, wheezing snore which currently rumbled against her nape. Also, the forearm which crossed diagonally over her breasts was sprinkled with course black hair.

Hermione cleared her throat.

Snape huffed air against her ear which made the fine hairs on her neck stand up. He then made a sticky, smacking noise with his tongue which brought her goosebumps back down to a manageable level in a trice.

"Wake up," she said, patting his hand more firmly than necessary.

He growled and pulled her closer. "God, you're a pest, Granger. Can't you see I'm trying to have a bit of a lie-in?"

"A bit of a… Snape, remove your morning stiffy from my back this instant. I will not be force-cuddled." She heard him grumble as he pulled away, and Hermione couldn't help but shiver at the wash of cool air down her back. She rolled over to face him, curling the ermine trim away from her skin again. "What a strange recurring dream," she mused.

He threw his arm over his face, burying his eyes and nose in the crook of an elbow. "Yes, the subconscious mind is full of pitfalls and secret desires, I'm sure." He moved slightly, and Hermione saw one of his dark irises peek at her from the cavern beneath his arm. "Replaying some childhood crush on an old teacher? I suppose I should be grateful that you're not tarting it up in a Hogwarts uniform right now." The eye slid shut.

"Bah, I grew out of that sixth year after you killed…" She trailed off as the lights in the room flickered with an electrical whine, before returning to normal brightness. "How strange."

When she turned back to face him, the scars on his neck seemed especially red and livid, or perhaps he'd blanched and paled at her reminder of Dumbledore. Unable to help herself, she leaned forward, carefully holding the blanket to her chest. She touched Snape on Nagini's mark. He startled, clasping her wrist tightly and leaning over her body. She was effectively pinned, and she noticed how hard his chest was, even through a layer of blankets.

They froze, gazes locked.

Hermione came awake with a startled gasp and found herself alone in her bed once more.

* * *

"Why should I go to a bloody Name Day for another one of Potter's brats?" Snape asked the next day as they were closing the shop. "I have better things to do with my time. I am sure that I am nearing a breakthrough in my research, and I'm at a critical stage in the base." He ran a polishing cloth over his centrifuge, taking care to reinforce the stability spells built into each arm.

Hermione ticked ingredients off her inventory list. "You should go, but I can't tell you why or you'll refuse."

"That's hardly an incentive."

"It wasn't supposed to be. It was a statement of fact. You really should go. We're running low on Boomslang skin, by the way."

"Yes, the order should be in on Thursday." He threw the rag onto the lab table and loosened his collar.

The movement arrested Hermione. The potioneer kept his collar perpetually buttoned, uncomfortable with the gaping public who would occasionally come to stare at the spy who killed Dumbledore and had his throat ripped out by Nagini. Even she had only seen his scar once when she had visited him in hospital.

It was a jagged, livid red crossing his neck below his ear and curling down nearly to his collarbone. She was surprised by how well her subconscious mind had remembered the lines of it in her dream, and Hermione was forced to curl her fingers more tightly around her clipboard so that she didn't reach out to stroke the raised ridges.

Her gaze was covert as she pretended to study the list in front of her, but Snape had been a spy, and he rasped, "Does it bother you? Are you uncomfortable?" His voice was stiff, and he watched his hands as he rearranged his silver, brass, and glass stirring rods on a nearby workstation from tallest to shortest.

"No. I was just taken aback. You've never voluntarily bared your neck to me before."

"After the long years of our acquaintance – so very, very, horribly long," here, he smirked, "I find that… I do not hate being in your presence, Granger."

A glance revealed that Snape's entire neck was now red, not just the area marred by the scar. Hermione looked around the now-spotless store and wondered what was happening.

He continued, "In fact, I find that it is not even mildly objectionable, and honestly, I am more comfortable with my collar unbuttoned. It rubs a bit. As long as you are not… disturbed by my scars, I should prefer to work this way when we are alone." Snape was still rearranging those damn stirring rods.

She paused and gentled her voice as she chose the right words to set him at ease. "Of course I'm not disturbed. I have marks of my own from the war. We all do. Although I respect your right to hate being stared at by idiots, I have always felt you should be able to wear your scars with honor."

Snape huffed, and she watched his hawkish profile. The color faded from his neck as if loath to leave him to his normal pallor. Seemingly aware of her scrutiny, he turned his back to her, and she was left staring at his braid which trailed down to the tips of his shoulder blades.

Although he would never be a handsome man, the handful of years since war's end had been good to him. He was still slender, but he'd lost some of that skeletal thinness that characterized his appearance during that final year when he was Headmaster. He'd put on a stone since then, and it showed in the muscles banding his shoulders and the gentled planes of his face. Snape was fastidious about his hair now that he no longer had to play the part of the Greasy Git, and he'd allowed it to grow out, although he kept it back in that long, black braid while working.

If she was honest, she was fascinated by that braid. It made it hard for her to reconcile this man with the dour Potions master from her school days who used his hair as a curtain to hide his eyes. She wanted to slide her hand down it, feeling every bump as she stroked it from the base of his skull to the very tip at the center of his back.

It was an inexplicable urge that left her unsettled.

"What time is the Name Day celebration?" she heard him grumble.

"Seven."

He turned back to her, his arms crossed over his chest. "I suppose I can come. I'm assuming it's at Potter's?" Even now, Snape couldn't help but sneer when he said Harry's name, and he bared his crooked teeth.

"Unfortunately, not. It's at the Burrow." Hermione growled suddenly. "Ronald had better not even _think _of bringing _Lav-Lav_. You know, this is the second time he's thrown me over for her."

Waving one hand, he snorted and rolled his eyes. "Oh, _pity_ me. Oh, I _hate_ him. I've already heard your song and dance number, witch." At her gasp of outrage, he continued, "Pride aside, Granger, did you even _want_ to remain with that blaggard? He chewed with his mouth open and openly ogled other women. He had the mental capacity of an invertebrate and never even bothered sitting his NEWTs. Honestly, I can't think of two people worse suited for each other. I thought you were insane for the longest time."

"That's hardly your call, is it?" She was hurt at his cavalier dismissal of four years of her life and choices. "Contrary to what you believe, I loved Ron… probably not as he needed to be loved, but he was important to me. He was a big, dumb, bear of a man, but I thought he was all mine." She looked down at her clipboard for a moment before setting it on the worktable. "It felt like the end of an era when he left me." Hermione sniffed unbecomingly, and a look of alarm skittered across Snape's normally impassive face. "Oh, all right. I wasn't interested in anything long-term with him, but I miss my friend, and it hurts that he did this to me."

"Granger…" He reached a hand out towards her, but pulled back before he brushed her shoulder.

"I am not going to talk about this with you because it would be an exercise in masochism on my part." She stalked out to the front and slipped off her work apron and picked up her cloak. Twirling it around her shoulders, she fumbled with the tie. Hermione ignored that he'd followed her and ignored that he was watching her with an unsure expression on his face.

"I did not intend to hurt you."

"Well, that doesn't mean it didn't still hurt. See you tonight."

She blew out the door, the bell over the frame ringing in incongruous merriment.

* * *

Hermione's anger faded long before she arrived at the Name Day celebration, and she was sad to see that contrary to what he'd said, Snape hadn't shown. She wasn't the only person who was disappointed, either.

"Are you sure he said he was coming, 'Mione?" Harry's green eyes searched the guests gathered in the garden of the Burrow. He had his arm tucked around her shoulders, and she relaxed into him. "Ginny and I both were really hoping he'd show."

"He _said_ he was coming, but we had a minor disagreement before I left work today. He might be sulking." She sighed. "Besides, I'm not sure it isn't better that he stays away. I'm worried how he'd react. Albus Severus is a fine name, but Snape doesn't like to be the center of attention, and he still has a lot of guilt over Dumbledore."

Harry tightened his hold with an affectionate squeeze before allowing his hand to drop from her shoulders. Rubbing a palm over his tired-looking eyes, he said, "I know, but I needed to do this. He's sacrificed and done so much for me. For all of us. This is the only thing I have of any worth."

"I know." And she did. For Harry Potter, a man who'd grown up with nothing and no one to call his own, naming his child after Snape was to offer him a treasure more valuable than gold and more precious than silver. It was a covenant promising nothing but the greatest respect and honor. She just wasn't sure if a man so embittered and closed would be able to see it for what it was.

Pushing the heavy weight of her hair off her shoulder, Hermione shifted and shivered slightly. The night was cool despite her cloak, and she found herself wishing she had worn a longer skirt to keep her legs covered. The garden looked nothing like the small field in which the boys played pickup games of Quidditch every first Sunday of the month. Molly had hired Neville's nursery to plant a line of lovely hedgerows to enclose the area, leaving just one opening for people to enter and exit. Neville had bolstered them with spells since they'd been planted in the wrong season and would need them to survive the coming winter.

Chairs were arranged ten wide and three deep and festooned with pink roses. They glowed, warm and welcoming in the gentle light cast by lanterns that Molly had strung along the hedges. The seats stood sentinel in a half circle around an arched lattice where Harry and Ginny would stand with the baby for the naming.

It was stunning and lovely.

"Don't worry, Harry. Snape may still show."

She started to pat him on the arm, but when she saw Ron and Lavender enter the enclosure, Hermione dug her nails into him instead. "Oh no," she moaned. "It's Lavendron."

"I'm sorry. I asked him to keep his distance from you tonight, but I know that's small comfort." His voice was soothing, but his attention had already moved to Ginny who was just entering the garden with baby Albus Severus in her arms and James Sirius attached to the edge of her skirt with one pudgy hand. Hermione felt his energy shift into something loving and proud when he looked at his wife and children, and she smiled in spite of herself.

"I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself. You go take care of your family."

Harry turned to her, and even though his black hair was mussed and boyish, he looked at her with the eyes of a father. "It'll be all right, Hermione. You'll see. In the end." He chucked her gently under the chin and then moved off and held his arms out to James.

* * *

Snape did show after all. When Harry proclaimed his child's name to the family and friends gathered around them, he cast his gaze above the heads of those seated. He directed his attention to the shadows near the entrance of the hedgerow-lined garden, and Snape stepped into the light.

The former spy nodded, his face an impassive mask to most, but Hermione saw the small wrinkle between his brows and the slight, hitched movement of his Adam's apple as he swallowed. He was touched, she decided before he slipped back into the shadows where he was most comfortable.

And then it was over. The guests congregated around tables of Molly's food that Bill and Charlie had Apparated in, one of them on each side, the table held between them. Hermione was impressed they were able to manage the feat without deflating any of their mother's soufflés. There were casseroles and gelatin desserts and baked chicken. Large bowls of fruit salad nestled next to pumpkin tortes cozened up to green field salads garnished with radishes and oranges and poppy seeds. And there, holding court in the center of the table was a gorgeous suckling pig.

Molly never had figured out how to cook for less than a hundred.

Snape was busy fending off an effusive Harry, so Hermione nibbled on a bit of baked chicken and fruit salad by herself, waiting until the earliest opportunity she could find to cry off without being rude. She stood off by herself in a puddle of shadows, hoping to escape Ron and Lavender's notice without appearing to be avoiding them.

Alas, it was to no avail. She felt a finger gouge her in the ribs.

"Well, you have some nerve showing your face here after what you did to me, Hermione Granger," Lavender hissed.

Hermione eyed her like she was a bug. "I admit I miscalculated. I was a bit overzealous in trying to aid you in straightening your horrifying, lopsided breasts."

The other witch fluffed her already over-fluffed curls. Her hair made her look like a mortified shrubbery. Casting a not-very-surreptitious look at the other partygoers, Lavender ran her finger from her collarbone, down her bosom, and stopped at the point of her hip. "Poor Hermione. Such sour grapes. After all, this body was good enough for Ronald not three hours ago. Obviously, he found something _lacking_ in yours." She flashed Hermione a predatory smile. "Obviously he found something lacking in _you_, or he'd never have taken up with me eight months ago."

Hermione's mouth tightened, and Lavender's grin widened for just an instant before Hermione felt a dark presence at her shoulder.

"Ms. Brown, you're looking particularly vulpine tonight. Shouldn't you be raiding some other woman's henhouse?" Hermione sagged in relief as she was enveloped by Snape's comforting presence. "Go hussy up to the Weasel. Shoo. Off with you." He sounded darkly amused.

The other witch's mouth fell open at the casual dismissal. Hermione watched as red climbed up Lavender's neck to her cheeks and ears in unattractive splotches. "This doesn't concern you, Snape."

"Don't mistake me. I have no interest in your cat fight with Ms. Granger. However, I need to speak with her on a matter that doesn't concern you." He paused before adding, "Also, I just don't like you."

Lavender huffed, "Just who do you think you are?" Her ridiculous sausage curls quivered in rage. "You're nothing, Snape. Nothing but a bully…" She spluttered, choking on her words. "A bully who is infamous for killing his friend and mentor, the greatest wizard this world has ever known."

Snape reared back as if she'd slapped him, but before Hermione could come to his defense, Ron stepped between her and Lavender, his voice tight and hushed. "Oi, Lavender," he hissed. "Not here, all right?"

Her demeanor changed immediately, becoming soft and coy as she wrapped her arms around Ron's waist, pressing her breasts into his side. "But Won-Won, Hermione was being so mean to me… And you know she cast that nasty hex at me today." She looked up at him, her limpid eyes glistening with crocodile tears.

"This party's for my nephew, Lav. Tamp it down," he said, clearly not taken in by her manipulations. "And you shouldn't say rot like that to Professor Snape."

"I'm nobody's professor anymore, boy," Snape rasped, his face once more controlled. In fact, it was so controlled, Hermione worried that it would crack from the pressure of the rage she could still feel battering through his frame.

"Sorry. Mister Snape, then." Ron nodded at the dark wizard.

Lavender shrieked, causing heads to turn and Hermione to wince at the decibel level the cow reached. "What on earth could you _possibly_ mean, Ronald? He _killed_ Professor Dumbledore."

"And saved the rest of us, dinnit he?"

Hermione stepped forward, eyes narrowed. "Lavender, you revile him for the single act that turned the war in our favor, and you forget the _two decades_ he gave as a sacrifice to the cause. You are an idiot." Turning to her ex-lover, she gave him a grudging nod of respect for his defense of Snape. "Ronald."

She whirled away, hooking her arm through the dark wizard's. "Let's go, Severus."

His arm tightened, pressing her hand against his ribs. "All right… _Hermione_."

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_A/N: Like it, love it, hate it, review it!_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: I can't believe how remiss I was in my last author's note. This was an entry in the 2010 round of the SSHG exchange, a gift for SilburyGirl. The prompt was provided by the luscious Grangerous. Thanks again to my sparkly, smexy Aurette, an inkertubes friend AND a real life friend. And thanks to Camillo for the Brit-pick. Without her, this would be chock full o' Americanisms._

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**Chapter Two**

Snape was already awake and propped on his elbow, watching her with calm, dark eyes. His hair was loose and spilled over his shoulder, trailing onto the bed.

"I'm beginning to understand it," he said.

"What's that, Sev'rus?" Hermione murmured, breaking through the cobwebs of sleep that still encased her brain. She blinked, taking in the bordello room. "Here again, huh?"

"Apparently." He reached out and touched her on the shoulder, and it startled her, the warmth of his hand on her bare skin. Her gaze flickered to his fingers before returning to his face. His brows were drawn together, but not in anger. No, they sloped on his forehead like the line of a roof, and his eyes were pensive beneath them. "I didn't need you to defend me tonight."

She yawned, and her jaw cracked. "So? That doesn't mean that, for once in your life, you don't deserve to have someone defend you." Rolling to her side so she could look him in the face, she mirrored his posture and propped her head on her hand. "Besides, Lavender was beyond the pale. She needs a good paddling."

Moving slowly as if trying not to startle her, Snape trailed his fingers down a lock of her long hair where it lay over her shoulder. "You're so brash."

"I know, I know. Such a Gryffindor. You've said it to me enough times."

His mouth quirked up. He studied her curl as it wound around his fingers. "I liked your hex so much, I dosed her drink at the party with a potion to mimic the same effect, except it will happen much more slowly. By next week, her left bosom will be hanging to her knees. The effect will fade very slowly, and it's won't be reversible in the meantime."

She gasped in laughter and smacked him on the arm. "You prat! You know she'll think it was me."

His sloe eyes warmed, and he sounded almost regretful when he tapped his chest and said, "Slytherin."

Her gaze trailed to the pectoral he'd touched, and she noticed crisp, crinkled black hairs scattered lightly around his nipples and sliding down his abdomen and beneath the covers. The blanket with its repellent ermine trim draped over his waist and above it, Snape laid naked and unashamed, his taut stomach and chest rippling as he breathed. When she managed to pull her gaze back to his face, his eyes were glowing with good humor and something dark. Warm.

_Gods_, she thought and swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.

His hand tangled in her mane once more, and his thumb slipped out to brush her jaw with a gentleness that caused every fine hair on her body to stand on end. Daring much, Hermione once more brushed her fingers over the scars on his neck.

Snape's eyes shuttered immediately, losing every hint of warmth. "Don't."

"Why not? Does it hurt?" She stopped moving, but let her hand rest flat and soft against the angry ridges.

"No, they're appalling. They… It makes me uncomfortable." He tossed his face and flexed his neck like a head-shy horse. Hermione's hand slid to the sheets between them.

She watched him patiently as his eyes darted around the room, anywhere but back to her. "They're just scars," she whispered. He didn't settle. "Severus. Severus, look." She rolled on her back and slid the blanket down her left side, keeping her hand cupped around her breast so the top of it was exposed, but the nipple remained covered. "See? I have scars, too."

Finally, he turned to look, and Hermione felt his gaze like a brand on the fat, ropy scar she'd received from a vicious Sectumsempra in her fifth year. It descended from her collar bone and bisected her breast. In fact, that was just what it had done, dividing it in two, straight across the nipple. It had taken a massive amount of reconstructive spells and potions to ensure it healed to look even remotely normal.

Showing it to Severus made her feel vulnerable and exposed. She knew she had nothing to be ashamed of, but it hit at the core of her femininity. After all, Ron had supposedly loved her, and even he had been put off by it, choosing not to touch it as they had sex. He'd close his eyes and turn his face away, and Hermione had always wondered if he had been imagining someone else in her place. Someone who hadn't been marked by the war as she had.

When she heard Snape make a pained noise deep in his throat, she flushed and jerked the sheets back up to cover herself.

Immediately, he was braced above her. His forearm found its way beneath her neck, and he cradled her as he placed the flat of his hand on her chest and slid the blanket down inch by torturous inch. The wizard didn't stop when he reached her nipple, instead choosing to expose her entire scar which didn't end until halfway down her ribcage.

"Hermione," he growled, and his eyes flicked from her chest to her eyes and back to her chest. "You are so lovely to me." And he leaned over her, his body curling around hers, and dragged his tongue over the entire length of the scar, traversing her ribs and the entire round of her breast.

She moaned in spite of herself, a shocked, dark noise, and his cock grew massively hard where he pressed into her hip. Hermione watched him part his lips and lean forward to take her mangled nipple into the wet cavern of his mouth.

She startled, jolted awake by her own cries of pleasure. Her tank was rucked up, exposing her breasts, and her scar throbbed with pleasure and awareness.

Panting, she allowed her hand to slide beneath the edge of her knickers as she thought of his intent expression and the hardness of him pressed into her and the silk of his hair as it stroked her naked skin.

* * *

It had just been a dream, but that didn't make it any easier for Hermione to meet her boss's eyes the next day. She compensated by being aggressively friendly. Swanning into Snape's Apothecary that morning, she sang, "I've brought coffee! It's a very dark roast. You'll love it."

He emerged from the laboratory, wiping his hands on a soft-looking chamois. "Thank the gods. I didn't sleep much, and I could use a cup."

She had slipped on her tulip-covered Potions apron, and begun rearranging a tray with some scones she'd baked and pouring his coffee which he liked with a shocking amount of sugar, when she glanced at him and froze. His shirt was unbuttoned… just one button, right at the top, allowing her a glimpse of his Adam's apple and the very edge of his scar.

Hermione found herself unable to tear her eyes away.

He stopped instantly, convulsively, and looked around. "What are you gaping at?" Comprehension spread across his face, and appearing mortified, he reached up to close his collar.

"No, please don't. You don't need to, Severus."

He stopped, but then shook his head and buttoned it. "It's fine, Hermione."

"It's just… I know it rubs when you're buttoned up," she said and reached forward, loosening his collar once again. In a movement small enough that she'd be able to play it off as accidental, Hermione allowed her pinky finger to graze his scar. She shivered and felt color rush to her face. The witch knew that if her ears had been visible beneath her hair, they'd be nearly glowing red in embarrassment. "There," she whispered, smoothing his lapels.

_I just touched Snape. I unbuttoned his shirt._

"Thank you," he said, standing closer to her than he ever had before. ""I know they're appalling."

Something in her mind chimed like a bell, but she ignored it, focusing instead on the scent of warm man tinged with bitter and aromatic herbs. "Not at all."

The smile he gave her was slow treacle, and she blushed at the sweetness of it.

The bell above the door tinkled, and the spell broke. Hermione stepped back from him and turned her flushed cheeks to the tray where she finished preparing his coffee.

"Potter," said Snape, and she looked up to see Harry holding the door open for Ginny and James. Her friend cradled his baby with his left arm, holding the six month old against his chest. "Mrs. Potter," the potioneer added politely. Hermione was surprised that there was no sneer on his face, although he continued to use the flat tone she'd become used to hearing when he addressed Harry.

"Mister Snape," Harry said, a smile spreading across his face. He lightly joggled Albus Severus and rubbed his tiny back. "Gin and I were out and just wanted to stop by and thank you for coming last night. It really meant a lot to us."

Snape inclined his head an inch, but said nothing.

Ginny stepped forward, pulling little James with her. "Honestly, we want to thank you for so much more than that." She moved into the pool of light that spilled into the Apothecary shop from the big bay windows at the front of the store. The bright sun made her hair flame a vibrant red, and her eyes glowed as she stretched her hand out to touch Snape on his marked forearm.

Hermione saw his eyes dart to Ginny's hair and eyes and caress the witch's rosebud mouth, and then he stepped back, away from the hand that attempted to bridge the distance between them. Uncrossing his arms, he put them behind his back in a clear signal that he didn't wish to be touched.

Although to most, his face would have appeared impassive, the curly-haired witch knew him well enough to see an echo of heavy, crippling sadness haunt him for a moment. Hermione saw it in the tenseness of his shoulders and in the tiny wrinkle between his brows and the shallowness of his quiet breaths. His eyes flicked to the small, black-haired child with green eyes, and his lips tightened.

"All right," Ginny whispered. "All right. I won't touch. Harry and I just wanted you to know how very much we appreciate you and the work you've done for all of us. Without you, we wouldn't be here today. I wouldn't have a safe world to raise my boys. I wouldn't have my Harry. He'd probably be dead at the hands of Vold…" Her voice had been rising with passion as she spoke, but her words cut off abruptly when she saw Snape's eyes narrow at the name. "At the hands of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

Again, he inclined his head an inch, but this time he spoke. "I am… glad." Snape had been studying the rows of ingredients that ran parallel to the line of windows, but his gaze then slid to Ginny's face once more in a canny, secretive move. "I am glad that you have a safe world to raise your boys."

He watched her for a long moment, and Hermione felt an insane and selfish urge to interpolate herself between the two, shouting, _Me! Look at me like that!_ But no one looked at her. In fact, everyone appeared to have forgotten she was even in the room except for sweet James who waved to her with a babyish smile. She took a shuddering breath and curled her fingers back to him. His smile widened, and Hermione saw how much he looked like Harry.

Snape shook himself, and turned to walk back to his laboratory, signaling an end to the conversation. He stopped, just by the threshold. "Hermione, there's an issue with several orders. Come see me once the Potters are done using up the time for which I pay you." He left without a further word to Harry or Ginny.

Silence held tight and stiff to the front room of the Apothecary shop.

Harry tapped a finger to his chin. "Did that go well? I can never tell with him."

Hermione answered, "Yes. He's very touched, but he's been buttoned up for so long, he doesn't know how to show it." She stared after him.

"He could barely look at us," Ginny whispered.

Hermione wanted to weep.

"It's because you look so much like your father, Harry. And Gin, with your red hair and pale skin, you remind him of Lily. He's still…" Swallowing repeatedly to ease the ache in her throat, she rasped, "Well, you know, Harry. You saw his memories." She refused to examine the cause of the tears that burned to be released.

Harry looked shame-faced. "I should never have given them to you, Herms. I should have been brave enough to give them back myself instead of asking you to do it, but I was so shocked. I didn't know how to react, knowing that Snape loved my mum."

"Oh, Harry," Ginny scolded.

"I know, Gin." He pushed his hair back to rub his forehead, and Hermione saw his lightning bolt, just a faint line since Voldemort had been defeated.

Hermione's lips trembled as she smiled at him, and they exchanged a few more words before hugging each other in goodbye. She received a moist kiss from James and pressed her mouth to Albus's forehead, breathing in his sweet powder smell. The little family waved as they left, and she watched them with her heart aching and aching as Ginny's flame-red hair caught the light once more out in the alley.

Bending over slightly, her hands on either side of the coffee tray, she took several deep breaths, fighting the knowledge that was breaking over her in a slow, inexorable wave. She thought of Snape's solemn face and lean frame. She thought of how he had opened himself up to her even while keeping the rest of the world at more than arm's length. She thought of his wicked humor, and she could no longer deny the tenderness for him that washed through her or the passion she felt when he was near.

How foolish she was. _Half of the reason I feel so close to him is because of the dreams. These feelings are stirring in me because of a set of experiences that aren't even real._ Hermione laughed without humor.

In and out, in and out she breathed until her chest eased and the room around her no longer threatened to blur from tears. Standing up, she cleared her throat. _Enough of this nonsense. _ With a brisk tap of her wand, she cast a Warming Charm over Snape's coffee and picked up the tray.

"Severus?" Relieved her voice sounded normal, she sought him out in the laboratory.

"Here," he said.

He was sitting at his Potions station, his profile to the doorway where she stood. His forearms were flat to the table top, and he stared into the middle distance, his braid trailing down his back. Hermione thought he looked forlorn and set the coffee tray next to him, allowing her freed hand to rest on his shoulder and then slip down his braid.

His response was to quirk a brow at her temerity.

"Drink your coffee. It'll perk you up," she ordered.

"Yes, Mother," he said with a rush of warmth in his eyes that would have had her catching her breath if only she had been able to ignore his appellation.

She hid her hurt and responded by tugging the braid sharply. It caused his head to rock back slightly. "Do it or no pudding after supper, young man."

Smirking, he picked up the cup and sipped. He hummed, and his eyes fluttered shut. "That _is_ good." He set it down on the granite table top with a light clink that echoed and wobbled, amplified by the liquid sloshing to the rim. Staring at his hands, he fell silent again, wrapped in a shroud of sadness that Hermione wanted to rip open so she could climb inside with him.

"What did you need to discuss? You said there was an issue with several orders?" She hoped to distract him with talk of work, but although he smirked, his eyes remained dark and blank.

"There isn't really." Severus turned and looked up at her. "I just wanted to make Potter realize he was interrupting our work so he'd leave. Speaking of," he began. He cleared his throat. "Hermione… Hermione, I heard what Potter said about my memories."

She froze, and a chill crept down her spine. "I hope you know that I didn't mean to pry. I would have put them in a bottle, but Harry was worried they would get lost, and truly, the safest way to transport them was in my head. I wouldn't have watched them if I'd had any choice. And you know if I hadn't taken them, Ron would have, and I'm sure that…."

"It's all right, witch. I know you'll guard my secrets as well as your own."

And just like that, she was nearly lost for words, honored beyond all expectations of the trust he had just shown her. "Yes," she said simply.

"Oh, but Potter. That selfish boy. I am furious at Potter for his cowardice. All those years I spent protecting him, spying for Albus, and the pain I endured for all of you, and he handed my memories over to a third party. He couldn't be bothered to return them himself because of his immature disgust at discovering that I am a man and that I had loved his mother once."

Hermione looked at his grim countenance. Yes, he was a man. He was a man with a truly faithful heart. _Even now, even now_, she thought, remembering the shadows that chased across his face as he looked at Ginny with her Lily-red hair and Lily-pale skin. She longed to reach out to him and stroke his face until his eyes lightened, and he smiled at her as he had that very morning when she'd unbuttoned his collar… but his ghosts hung in the air between them. So instead, she buttered a scone and put it on the china plate she'd brought, sliding it across the counter to him, showing her care as best as she knew how.

Snape turned to her and smiled, patting her hand. It was enough for now.

* * *

Hermione awoke in the bordello to see Snape leaning over her, his forearm once more beneath her head, a very small smile tipping his lips.

"Good morning," he whispered, stroking his nose alongside hers.

"Mmmorning," she sighed, stretching and wrapping her arms around his neck.

At the open and affectionate contact, Severus's eyes warmed, and he leaned forward to run his lips over her eyebrow. "You woke up at a terribly inconvenient time last dream. I was about to perpetrate unforgiveable acts upon your person."

"Somehow, I'm sure that's not true. I am, after all, a very forgiving woman." She stifled a yawn and mumbled, "These dreams feel so real. They're even self-referential now."

"Maybe they are real," he whispered, looking down at her.

Hermione thought about it, head cocked. "No, I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"Well, you – the real you – have never mentioned them in real life."

"Maybe I'm shy."

She laughed at that. "Now I'm _sure_ they're not real, Severus. You? Shy?"

Snape's mouth quirked at that, and he bent down to drag his lips across hers. The heat pouring off of him made her hum in her throat, and Hermione wrapped her fingers in his smooth, dark hair. The kiss was chaste but intent, and she couldn't help but squirm in delight at being so firmly at the center of his attention. After dragging the tip of his tongue across the swell of her bottom lip, he finally pulled back. "Absolutely," he murmured. "About this, yes."

Hermione traced the line of his nose. "You were sad today."

Snape's eyes cooled slightly. "No," he said.

"Yes." She pulled the blankets up over his shoulders. She could see he was covered in gooseflesh from the cool air of the room. "It's because Ginny reminds you of Lily, isn't it?"

"I wasn't sad, Hermione. I was discomfited." Severus pulled back from her and fell to his side. "Lily is far in my past, just a ghost of what never was. However, seeing Ginny there with Potter, the same age that my Lily died…" He shrugged, and the blankets rustled. "It was strange." Reaching out, Severus pulled her close and then began tracing the length of her scar. He didn't meet her eyes.

She shivered and pulled the ermine-trimmed comforter to cover her breasts, protecting herself from him. It was nearly painful to have Severus touch her with such tenderness while talking about 'his Lily.'

He looked up at her, startled by her withdrawal. "Hermione," he whispered. "I am who I am because of my past with Lily Evans. While I bear many burdens from before, my love for her is the lightest. I can't change it, but I must confess that I had hoped you might be part of my future."

Ah gods, it was sweet. If only it was real. She swallowed and blinked, feeling little tears creep from the corner of her eyes to slide down her temples and into her hair. When Severus licked the salty tracks from her face, Hermione curled an arm around his neck and said, "All right. All right." If she couldn't have him in real life because he was too hung up on his past with Lily, she'd be damned if she'd let this opportunity pass.

At her acceptance, Severus buried his face in her neck and kissed her shoulder. "Thank you, tulip," he murmured and slid on top of her. He settled his hips on hers with a nestling motion that made her catch her breath at the tenderness of it.

The rest of the dream passed in a haze of caressing hands and sharp, nipping teeth as Severus made love to her with a single-mindedness that left Hermione sobbing in pleasure, her hands digging into the muscles of his low back as he flexed and flexed and flexed again, pressing into her tight flesh.

When she woke up, she was crying in climax, her fists clenched in the sheets twisted around her hips. But it was hollow, so hollow because Hermione was empty. She was alone in her bedroom.

* * *

_Just a dream_, she told herself, smoothing her outfit with sweaty hands. She'd told herself the same thing this morning when she'd rejected a perfectly practical pair of slacks and slipped into the knee-length suede skirt that drew the eye to her slender ankles. _Just a dream_, she chanted, but when choosing between a serviceable white button-down blouse and a soft, carnation pink cashmere sweater that begged to be touched, she chose the sweater.

_Just a dream_, she thought, _but there's no reason not to dress well._ She'd had a shattering orgasm caused by a dream featuring her solemn-eyed potions brewer, and Hermione felt fantastic. _Besides, the weather is getting colder, so a sweater is more practical._ And with that fib to herself, she tied her hair into a loose chignon and shoved her wand through it.

Snape was late, though. He wasn't here to enjoy her in all of her sartorial splendor. She'd been waiting on him for half an hour. Hermione sighed and leaned forward on the stool, resting her elbows on the glass countertop where he kept the restricted ingredients. He'd never been late before.

Pouting, she rearranged the items on the counter, stacking the invoices and lining up the edges of his ledger with the research books he'd stacked with it. Hermione knew she was being foolish. Nothing had _really_ happened. Her current behavior was based almost entirely on a series of increasingly erotic dreams and hardly at all on any encouragement Snape had given her in real life. After all, his statement that he didn't entirely hate being in her presence didn't justify the thong she'd squeezed into.

She looked up when she heard the bell by the door. He stood there, a travel carrier with two coffees in his hand. Severus seemed overcome as his eyes traced the pink cashmere that covered the soft curves of her breasts. Flushing furiously, he dragged his gaze up to her face and murmured, "You look beautiful today."

"You, too. Handsome, I mean." And he did look good. Severus set the coffee on the counter and removed his cloak, revealing a blue, button-down shirt. It was fitted, emphasizing his flat stomach and the breadth of his shoulders. The collar was undone, and he'd tucked the tails into a pair of flat-front black trousers with a row of silver buttons by his left hip that invited Hermione to stare at his crotch.

Which she did until he cleared his throat.

She looked up at him, startled by the need she felt to run her hands over that row of buttons.

"I brought you some coffee," he said.

"Thank you." Hermione swallowed a mouthful, her eyes watering when she burned her tongue. "It's very tasty," she coughed.

They lapsed into an awkward silence, the sounds of them sipping the steaming liquid the only noise in the room. With his foot, he hooked another stool and brought it around the counter so that he could sit next to her. He sniffed the air appreciatively.

"Are you wearing perfume? It's very appealing."

Surprised, Hermione raised her wrists to her nose to smell. "Oh! No, no. That's the lemon verbena I chopped for the Arthritis Potion." She laid her hands back into her lap.

Severus wrapped his fingers around hers and lifted her hand to his face. He dragged his nose and lips against her wrist and inhaled deeply. "Ah. My mistake." His hand burned her, and the trail of his mouth caused chills to race up her arm.

When he released her, they were both shaking. As Hermione stared at his profile, his irises flicked to hers, though his face didn't turn. His eyes were hot, and she caught her breath.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Hermione," he began, and the shaking of his hands grew more pronounced. He licked his lips. "Hermione, you are so lovely to me."

She stood up so fast, her stool toppled over. "What?"

He turned to her, and she couldn't help but notice that the royal blue of his shirt made his eyes appear dark grey, not black. She gasped when he reached out and stroked the very top of her scar where it peeked out over the scooped neck of her sweater. "You are so very, very lovely to me." Severus stepped forward so that although their bodies were still apart, she could feel the heat of him pounding into her skin with every beat of his heart.

The words shook her to her core, and the certainty that he _knew_, that he'd _been_ _there_, made her cry out. "You! You, you, it was you," she babbled, terrified and elated and everything in between.

"Me," he said before looping an arm around her waist and yanking her forward against his chest. "Me, me, it was always me," and then his mouth was on hers and oh god, he tasted like her dreams, all hot and wet and hungry. Her lips fell open, and she groaned, helpless to resist him when he was all she had wanted for what seemed like ages.

Snape wrapped his hands around her waist and made to lift her onto the counter, but she threw up her hands and shouted, "Wait! Coffee!"

Growling, he Vanished them and then swept his arm across the invoices and books and ledgers scattered across the counter. They fell to the floor in a clatter of hard spines and fluttering paper. With a flick of his hand, the shades fell over the front of the windows, and the lock on the front door clicked.

"Tell me now if you didn't mean it, Hermione. Tell me if the reality of being with me is too much to bear outside of our dreams," he growled, his lips mere centimeters from hers, waiting for her permission to slip his leash so he could feast on her soft mouth.

She lunged forward and nipped his lower lip with very little gentleness, pulling at the leather tie on his braid and running her hands through his hair to unweave it. It was thin but silky, and as it fell unbound, the scent of his shampoo wrapped around her. Mint. Severus smelled of mint and man, and Hermione's head spun. "Yes, I meant it, idiot."

Placing a hand on her back and pulling her towards him, he straightened, ensuring her breasts were pressed against his chest and that his hips pushed her skirt up until he was nestled tight between her thighs. She cried out, and as if it released something in him, Snape's fingers flexed in her hair and he ground his hips into hers.

There was no doubt he wanted her. He was tremendously hard, pressing against her so that she thought she'd lose her mind. "Say you're mine," he said, his mouth to her ear.

Hermione's eyes rolled back, and she was having trouble focusing when Severus was drowning her in pleasure. "Mmm," she said, clutching his shoulders.

He bit her sharply on the shoulder and flexed his hips. "Say it, witch. Say you're mine."

This time she heard him, and as he rocked and rocked against her, she moaned, "God, yes. All yours, Severus."

* * *

They laid on the floor of the Apothecary, completely naked and surrounded by papers and books. Hermione was on her back, sweating and panting from their exertions. She was overheated and so refrained from touching Snape anywhere except for the toes of her right foot which she'd extended so that it caressed his left ankle.

"So, let me make sure I understand you. You brewed a random potion you found in some forgotten book designed to enable you to share dreams with your beloved? I hope you at least tested it before you dosed me." Not that she cared at the moment.

"No," he said, and his voice was groggy.

"You didn't test it?"

"No, although I would have had I actually been required to dose you with it. I was the only one who needed to take it, so I didn't bother." Severus grunted with annoyance. "You are too far. Come closer."

"I'm too hot at the moment. Plus, I'm annoyed that you were so reckless with yourself. If you'd died, I would have missed out on the best shag of my life."

Snape dragged a hand over his face, and Hermione got the impression that he was trying to hide a pleased smile. "Quite."

She poked him. "Why are we always in a bordello?"

His cheeks flushed. "I'm not exactly sure why my subconscious chose to put us in a bordello, but I lost my virginity in that particular room. My father took me to visit a prostitute on my nineteenth birthday. He said he was tired of my mooning over L… Well. He said a shag would knock it right out of me, and that I was far too old to be a virgin still."

"Stand-up kind of guy, huh?"

"Hermione, I was nineteen, and my libido was out of control…"

"No, I meant your father," she clarified, hearing the defensive tenor in his voice. She stretched her hand out and wrapped the short, crinkled hairs on his chest around her index finger.

He grunted and looked mollified. "That's a story for a different time, love."

"How did you know that I'd be the one with whom you'd share dreams?" She yawned and scooted closer, lifting her head so that it rested on his bicep. It spasmed beneath her cheek. "Ouch. Relax your arm. It's like cuddling with a stone."

The muscles flexed and then eased. "Who else would it have been, Hermione? Lavender Brown? Rita Skeeter? Heaven forbid." Snape's voice was disinterested. In a quick movement, he grabbed her and pulled her on top of him. "Let's talk about something far more interesting."

She shrieked in laughter. "Oooh, you. You can't possibly be ready again already."

"I beg to differ," he said in a sniffy voice, flexing his hips to prove to her that he was a Wizard, and that he was indeed ready again already.

The delighted look on her face faded slowly as she noticed a book above his left shoulder. It must have fallen open when he'd swept the items resting on top of the glass case to the floor. It was an old, forgotten-looking potions book, the pages yellowed and foxed with age. She leaned over Snape, her breasts dangling above his mouth to his great interest.

"Stop for a sec," she said as she picked up the book and sat up, straddling his hips.

His face blanched when he saw what she had in her hands, and he began to go soft where he pressed between her legs. "Hermione…"

"_Une Rêve d'Amour_," she whispered, reading the name of the potion. _A Dream of Love_. There, tucked between the pages as a placeholder, was a Wizarding photograph of a young Severus Snape kissing Lily Evans. "Oh, gods."

"Hermione, love…" He pled with her to listen.

"Oh, gods. I'm such a fool." A tear streaked down her cheek. She felt the heat build in her face and an aching, yawning chasm split open in her belly.

"No. _Don't_ say that." His voice was nearly frantic as he sat up. Hermione still straddled his hips, and he wrapped his arms around her waist to keep her from being dislodged. He tried to kiss her face, but she put her hand on his chest and turned away from him.

"I thought this was about me, but it never was. It was about her." She felt nauseated, broken. This was worse than Ron's disgust at her scars, worse than his leaving her for Lavender. This was crippling. Severus was a man whose faithful heart would _never_ be hers, because Hermione could never be _her._

"Don't do this. Please, look at what we've found in each other. Don't leave me for this." His hands bit into her hips.

"You drank the potion for Lily, didn't you?" By this point, Hermione was crying freely, her chest shuddering with sobs. She pushed off him, stumbling when her knees protested. Slipping on her knickers and skirt, she began to search through the detritus on the floor for her bra.

Snape's face was in his hands, but she watched the color crawl up his neck as she hooked the clasp between her breasts. When he lifted his face, his eyes were dry. "Yes, damn it. When I found that potion, all I could think about was the possibility that I might be able to spend even one more moment with my Lily, but when I woke up in bed with a warm, curvy woman, it was you, Hermione. And I was shocked. My first thought was that it must have been a mistake."

She pulled her sweater over her head, not caring when her hair fuzzed with static. Grabbing her cloak over one arm and holding the battered potions book in the other, she slipped into her flats and nearly ran to the door. After unlocking it, she paused for just a moment and said, "I could have fallen in love with you. I was so close. If only you'd wanted _me..._"

Severus's head fell forward into his hands, and he released a shuddering breath.

And then she was gone, out the door and away from him, even though every step hurt her just a little bit more. The memory of a wilted lily in an earthenware pitcher burned her.

* * *

Hermione took Dreamless Sleep that night.

And the next.

And the next.

* * *

_A/N: Like it, love it, hate it, review it!_

_A/N: My brit-picker mentioned that Hermione's scars bare a passing resemblance to Hermione's scars in Bambu's lovely Guard… Check… Mate. Any similarities are 100% coincidental. However, I'm going to say that if you haven't read it, you should. It's AMAZING. _


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: This is it kiddies. Last chappie. Thanks one last time to the eminently humpable Aurette, and the multi-talented Camillo. (I mean, dude - Have you read Phoenix Feathers? Have you seen her artwork? C'MON!)_

_I own nothing. It's all JK Rowling's.  
_

* * *

**Chapter Three**

Harry joggled the baby on his chest a few times before setting him in his high chair. "Here, Al," he hummed, shaking out some Cheerios from the cereal box on the counter. The baby's eyes widened, and he looked ecstatic before trying to grab a handful. Hermione smiled as the baby slobbered and failed to actually eat anything but his fist.

"Watching this explains why babies are always so moist when you touch them." She stroked her fingers over the fine hair on his head.

"Well, among other things," her friend murmured. He moved to the refrigerator and pulled out some leftover ham. "You look peaked. I'm going to make you a sandwich just how you like it – cold ham with butter on Ginny's homemade sour dough bread. Then I am going to watch you eat every bite of it."

"I'm not hungry, Harry. Don't fuss over me."

"I'm going to make you a sandwich, and then I am going to watch you eat every bite of it," he repeated, his tone firm.

"Does that ever actually work?" Hermione inquired, curious.

"You'd be surprised." He grinned. "On children and criminals, it works like a charm. I only ever tried it once on Ginny, and I will _never_ do it again." He cocked his head, "Works like a charm… I wonder how that made it into Muggle usage."

Hermione smiled fondly at Harry. "You're really good at this, you know," she said, gesturing to Albus and the tidy house around them. "Being a father, I mean."

"This is all I've ever wanted, Herms – to have a family. I'm glad you're part of it, too. Now," he said, switching his Auror voice back on. "What's wrong? You look awful."

"I'm… not sleeping that well, that's all." She looked at her hands. Her nails were bitten to the quick. She twisted them behind her back and out of sight. The weight of his eyes on her made her uncomfortable.

As if he could tell, Harry turned away and began wiping down his already immaculate, white enamel counters. He shook out his rag and laid it the edge of the sink, and then washed his hands and began slicing the ham to make her sandwich.

Hermione sighed and sank into the kitchen chair that received the most sunlight from the big bay window over the table. She looked out over the fields at Godric's Hollow and allowed the peace and quiet to sink into her bones, the only noises the cooing of the baby as he happily attempted to hoover up soggy, slobbery bits of cereal. "I'm in love with Severus."

Harry stilled for a moment, before turning to face her and setting a plate with her sandwich in front of her. "Does he know?" He sat down.

"It's far more complicated than I'm letting on, really." She leaned forward and took a bite so that her mouth would be full, and she would have a moment to compose her thoughts before speaking. The sandwich should have tasted delicious. Harry was right; it was her favourite. But the bread and meat just stuck to the roof of her mouth, tasting like ash.

Harry's hand covered hers, stroking softly.

After an endless moment, she forced herself to swallow. "I thought I was just dreaming," she began and unfolded the story before her friend. She told him everything, even when his ears began to burn red as she described Severus's mouth and hands and all the things he'd said to her to make her feel special. It was to his credit that he didn't interrupt her even once. She ended the tale by saying, "It was always Lily, Harry. I can't believe I didn't realise it right away. After all, the first thing he said to me in that very first dream was, 'Granger, what the fuck are you doing here?' and over on the dressing table was a pure white lily in a pitcher."

Harry squeezed her hand once before releasing her and curling his hand to rest his chin on it. "I'm not sure what to say, Hermione."

She tilted her head back and concentrated on the warmth of the sun on her face and neck. "There's not really anything to say, Harry."

"You, Ginny, and I are the only people in the world besides Snape who knew that he was in love with my mum. That he probably is still in love with her even now."

"I _know_," she said, hating the tears in her voice. "It was the dreams. I didn't think they were real, but they caused my feelings to creep up on me so slowly that I didn't realise the consequences until we were naked on the floor of the Apothecary." Hermione swiped at her cheek and ignored the twinge of discomfort on Harry's face. "I was happy at first. It seemed so romantic. I thought he wanted me, maybe even loved me, and that he'd used the potion because he's a Slytherin and didn't want to expose himself if he didn't have to. A… a stratagem to see if I felt the same way. When I realised that what we'd shared was just a by-product of his eternal, unchanging love for Lily, I just stood up, put my clothes on, and left. I haven't been back in three days."

"Did he try to explain?"

"He told me not to act that way, and then he admitted that he'd hoped to spend just one more moment with his Lily, but he'd awoken to me instead." She closed her eyes for a moment and attempted to gain control of the sobs that were shaking her chest and causing her nose to run. "I left right after that."

"So is that it? He just let you go? He slept with you and then acted the arse and let you run out on him?" Harry's lips were tight, and his shoulders hunched. "That complete and utter fuckwit. After everything he went through with my mum, I didn't think he'd have it in him to use someone so poorly."

Hermione bit her lip as fresh tears welled in her eyes. "So, you think he used me, then?"

Harry looked startled. "Isn't that what you just said?"

"Gods, I don't know. He really didn't want me to leave. He kept trying to hold me and kiss me, but I turned away." She straightened and cleared her throat. It was an irritated sound, and she shook her hair off her shoulders as if she was trying to shake off Snape's hold on her as well. "But he lied to me. I asked him point blank how he'd known I would be in his dreams, and he wasn't going to tell me. He tried to divert me with sex."

Harry reached across the table, picked up her sandwich, and took a bite. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment before opening it up and peeling off the tomatoes. "Can't stand tomatoes." He took another bite. His eyebrows were raised, and he hummed slightly as he chewed. He looked thoughtful, as if she'd shed new light on her problem, and Hermione's stomach dropped.

"What? I know that expression."

Swallowing, he said, "Well, he didn't want you to leave, did he? And he tried to make you feel better by holding you and kissing you. He probably knew it would hurt you to know he hadn't started out searching for you." He picked a bit of ham out of his teeth with the edge of his nail.

"It did! It hurt very much. He doesn't want me, Harry. He wants your mum."

The black-haired wizard grimaced and put the sandwich back on her plate. "I don't know why the thought of Snape and my mum bothers me more than the thought of Snape and my best mate, but it does." He steepled his fingers together and sighed. "It seems to me that you don't know that. All you know is that he wanted my mum first. Once he caught you in his net instead, it seems as if he tried to fight and keep you there."

"Don't." Hermione tucked her hands under her arms and hunched her back so that she could curl around the pain blooming in her belly. "Don't give me hope, Harry. It hurts too much. You saw his memories. You know. He loved her for nearly forty years. Love like that doesn't change."

He curled his fingers around hers once more and leaned forward with a small smile on his face. "Maybe not, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have room to love another, Herms."

"I don't think it's possible." She looked at the crumbs on the table and tried not to hope too dearly.

"Of course he could love you, Hermione."

"How?" she cried in pain. "He's wanted Lily since he was a child. Why now? Why me?"

Harry squeezed her hand tightly as she struggled to give voice to her deepest fears and resentments.

"I love him, Harry, but I can't do this if I'm just a replacement. I have too much respect for myself to ever let a man close his eyes and pretend I'm someone else." Hermione tugged on a hanging lock of her hair and tried not to think of how Ron had always closed his eyes. She tried not to think of Lavender's smooth skin, unblemished from the war.

"Don't be ridiculous, Herms. He held tightly to my mother's memory for so long because of guilt. After all, the prophecy he provided to Voldemort is what caused her death, right?"

She nodded, but then said, "Guilt is a powerful motivator. I think it has tied him up in knots for ages now." Hermione pulled a face. "This isn't making me feel any better, Harry."

"Hold on now. He did it, though. Didn't he? He played his part in the war, and he managed to protect me against all odds. Snape nearly _died_. He's expiated his guilt. I'd say that is a ghost he can begin to let go. That's the why now part."

"I didn't know you knew the word expiated." She sniffled unbecomingly and rubbed her nose on the sleeve of her jumper.

Rolling his eyes, Harry continued. "Next, he never really had my mum, did he? He loved her, but she never loved him back, not like he wanted. Snape's kept her up on this pedestal, ringed 'round by his guilt. No other woman could get close until it was gone, and it left with the fall of Voldemort." He picked up her hand. "And why you? Because you're _lovely_, Hermione."

She made a face and touched her frizzing hair. "Ron didn't think so."

"He's an idiot. You know that. You're kind and beautiful, and you're _real_. There's no way some shadowy memory of a woman who was never his could ever compare to your living, breathing loveliness." Harry's green eyes were so kind, Hermione felt hope begin to invade her heart, battered by the vagaries of her first love.

"Oh, Harry. I hope you're right."

* * *

_Une Rêve d'Amour:_

_Created in the early half of the 17th century by Alphonse de Manet of Paris. The potioneer feared to be parted from his inamorata, Belle Touraine. The youngest daughter of a prosperous merchant family, her father had promised her hand in marriage to the local miller. In despair, Alphonse de Manet crafted a potion designed to bring him together with Belle Touraine through their dreams so that wherever they were, they would not be parted._

Hermione pulled the photograph from the binding. Severus looked happy. Lily did not look _unhappy_, although her features didn't speak of the great passion that the adolescent Severus clearly felt. The witch sighed and rolled her eyes before smiling and tilting her face up to his playfully. His fingers curled around her nape, peeking through Lily's flaming red hair as his other hand combed it back off her shoulder. The smile he gave her was warm and completely unabashed as he bared his sweet, crooked teeth and leaned forward to rub his nose over Lily's.

Hermione covered her mouth, unable to look away.

He tilted his dark head to hers slowly, as if waiting for her to pull away, but Lily's eyes fluttered shut and spots of colour bloomed to life on Severus's high cheek bones. With a fierce gentleness, his mouth covered hers, and he took small sips from her lips as if to keep her from becoming overwhelmed.

It was clear to Hermione both from the picture itself and from knowing that Lily ended up marrying James Potter that the witch was in little danger of being overwhelmed. But, Severus… When he pulled back from the red-haired girl, he wrapped her up in his arms, a triumphant expression on his face. The photograph looped back to Lily rolling her eyes and smiling.

She slipped the photograph back in the Potions book and stared at the vase of tulips she'd found on her doorstep when she'd come back from Harry's. They were from him, of course. The note had simply said, "Sleep," in his spiky black hand, and Hermione had carried them inside wishing that she could… that things were that easy.

Could she take the risk? Could she open herself to him and hope that he loved her or could _grow_ to love her for her own merits? Hermione had trusted Ron once, and he had hurt her unbearably, first with his inability to accept her body, scars and all, and then by leaving her for Lavender Brown. If Snape couldn't look at her without pining for who she wasn't, it would break her.

Hermione had been so hurt when she realised he'd drunk the potion for Lily, she had lashed out at him. She remembered what she'd seen of his memories, how he'd lain outside of the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, begging Lily's forgiveness for his words spoken in anger. These tulips, his demand that she come to him in dreams, they were a plea for forgiveness.

Was she going to be like Lily and excise him from her life in one clean, surgical cut? Or would she be Hermione Granger, and open the door to the man who sat outside?

She allowed her fingertip to stroke a silky-smooth tulip petal. In the end, it wasn't a hard decision at all.

* * *

The bordello looked different, cheaper and more tawdry. The gold paint of the fleurs-de-lis was flaking off, and half of the glass prisms were missing from the lamps. Even the hated ermine trim looked worse, taking on a diseased, flea-bitten look. Their skin had dried and shrivelled, and their glass eyes were mostly missing. The earthenware pitcher that had held the lily was shattered, and the flower itself lay amongst the shards.

Snape sat on the end of the bed, facing away from her. His feet rested on the floor, and his elbows were on his knees. He was naked and uncovered, and despite everything, Hermione couldn't help but trace the muscles that banded over his back with her eyes. His posture showed the defeat he felt. He was slumped, curled, depressed, embittered, and she knew her words earlier were at fault.

"Severus," she whispered.

He jerked upright and turned to face her. "Hermione," he exclaimed. He had shadows beneath his eyes, but he smiled slightly when he saw her. It was barely a twitch of his lips. "You came. I'm glad."

She nodded.

Severus stretched out a hand towards her, before looking uncertain and pulling it back and tucking it beneath his arm. He looked old and frightened. He said, "I wasn't sure when you'd come next. I knew you couldn't take Dreamless Sleep forever, but I didn't know…"

Hermione sighed. "This isn't the end of us. I can't promise that _this_ will go where you want it to," here she gestured between the two of them, "but I can promise that I will never turn my back on you again."

His eyes widened a fraction and spots of colour bloomed high on his cheeks. "Thank you."

They sat in silence for a moment, and she watched in interest as the flaking paint curled back onto the wall and the ermine trim on the coverlet grew sleek and shiny again, although no less macabre. She looked away when new glass eyes pushed through the skins to gleam once more in their sockets. With a small start, Hermione saw that the earthenware pitcher was now whole and cradling the battered lily.

She wondered and dreaded what that meant.

"You are hurting. Tell me why so I can correct it." Severus stood and moved closer, sliding beneath the blankets with her. The move was not sexual, and Hermione understood that he was covering himself so that they could talk. "Are you upset that I still have feelings for Lily?"

Gods, that hurt. "Yes." But… "_No_. No, it's not that exactly. I know you are older than I am, and as such, you come to me with a past."

His face was stern as he tried to puzzle her out. "I don't understand, then."

Those lines around his mouth were so familiar to her that Hermione smiled and told him the truth. "I'm afraid because I'm so in love with you." When he reached for her, she held her hand up and pointed over to the earthenware pitcher with the lily in it. "I'm in love with you, and I want you to love me the same way. But even in this dream where we're supposed to _belong_ to each other, she's here."

His expression, which had glowed at her revelation, faltered as he looked over at the battered flower. "But, she is _part_ of me." When he turned back to Hermione, his eyes begged her to understand. "I cannot leave her behind."

"I'm not asking you to love me more than her, Severus. I just want a part of you all for myself."

He growled, becoming frustrated. "Don't you understand? You have all of me already. Every ounce of me is yours and not hers. _She never wanted me_."

And although he didn't say it, Hermione understood that Severus had offered himself to the red-headed Witch over and over again. And despite each and every rejection, he'd drunk this potion so he could dream of her even now, and when he dreamt of Hermione instead, he'd allowed Lily to take root in this room he shared with her.

When he had pressed Hermione into the mattress and kissed her scars, his ghosts had hovered over the same shoulders she'd clung to.

"I'm just so afraid, Severus." She pressed a hand over her mouth as if she could catch the sobs that threatened to spill out of her before he heard them. "What if you never love me? What if that lily is the only flower that ever grows in your heart? Nothing will be left for me then."

His eyes widened, and then he growled and grabbed her face not at all gently. "Idiot." He licked the tears from her cheeks, and Hermione was reminded of when he'd told her he wanted her to be his future that first and only night he'd made love to her in their dreams. "You're listening, but you're not _hearing_ me, Witch. You're looking, but you're not _seeing_. You think I don't love you? You think I want someone else here with me?" He bit her on her chin, before forcing her face towards the pitcher with the lily in it. "_Look again_."

A battered white lily in a white, earthenware pitcher. Hermione blinked. It was just a stupid lily.

"Look, damn you. Why can't you see them?" His voice was panicked. "They're the most beautiful thing in the room."

And then, like a veil had been lifted from her eyes, she could see. Crowding around the battered white flower were a dozen flaming red tulips, so bright and perfect they seemed fey and otherwordly. "Severus," she cried, jerking her face out of his hands and leaning towards him, her fingers curling around his hard shoulders. "I do. God, Severus. I see them."

His angry expression dissolved into relief and desire, and he wrapped an arm around her and tugged her tight to his chest. He pulled her down and rolled so that he lay on top of her. Severus took small sipping kisses at her bottom lip, and with every kiss he crooned, "My perfect love, my perfect love." Hermione thought she'd drown in the glory of it.

* * *

It was a week later when Harry caught them _in flagrante delicto_ behind the counter of the Apothecary shop.

Hermione was embarrassed, but Severus looked completely unapologetic. He merely plucked the tulip from his hair, smoothed her shirt and skirt down, and buttoned his trousers. Hermione thought the order of his actions interesting and giggled to herself as he pulled her to her feet.

"Um," Harry said, his cheeks red.

"Potter," Snape snapped, his lips thin white lines. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I'm so glad that Ginny said she'd watch James, because I don't know how I would have explained that to him." He ran his hand through his hair in agitation, looking shell-shocked.

Hermione thought very hard for a moment and then said, "You could have Obliviated him." She tried very hard to sound like she wasn't joking.

Snape's expression was approving as he looked at his lover.

Harry blinked. "Anyway, I'm here for the antidote to Lavender's breasts. Well, breast really. Both Ron and I figured it was Snape, although Lav-Lav wants to filet you personally, Herms."

She laughed, delighted, and tried to ignore the fact that Harry was talking about Lavender's breasts just moments after seeing her own. "How did you know it was Severus?"

Shrugging, Harry said, "Ron and I are both Aurors, and we know you better than anyone. It's not your style. You always go for the frontal assault, and you'd _never_ stoop to using the same trick twice. Had to be Snape. We figure it happened at the Naming Day party."

"Very good, Potter. Alas there is no antidote; it will have to wear off naturally." He smoothed his frock coat and straightened his cravat with meticulous care. Hermione had mangled it nearly beyond repair. Not that he had seemed to mind. "And how is Mr. Weasley faring these days? His own bosom is still symmetrical, I hope."

Harry squinted and sighed. "Really? You didn't, did you?"

"I'm sure I have no idea what you mean." Severus slipped his arm around Hermione's waist. "Is that all? Don't you have somewhere else to be that's _not _here?"

"I guess that's it. Herms, don't forget about dinner on Sunday. Ginny's making lamb. Snape, you're invited too, of course."

"We'll both be there," she said, smiling.

Harry glanced at the Potions maker to see if he agreed with Hermione's happy assessment, but Severus just arched an inquiring brow. "Well? Leave now."

"Right, I'm going." He walked to the door and paused, smirking. "Don't forget to lock the door this time." And then he was gone, the bell ringing behind him.

"You didn't really do anything to Ron."

Severus smiled like a sphinx, and Hermione's knees nearly buckled from desire. At her negligent gesture, the lock clicked shut. Turning to Severus, she slipped her arms around his waist and lifted her face to his.

"Mine," she growled.

"Yes. All yours," he answered and touched his lips to hers.

* * *

_A/N: Like it, love it, hate it, review it!_


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